Anchor
by mochawhip
Summary: Returning to the world meant facing what he left behind. Red participates in the World Tournament to battle and nothing more, despite Giovanni's presence being an unwelcome distraction. It's enough to juggle the League's demands of him, tolerate that man's appearance as a participating Leader, and manage the fragile state of his relationship with Green all at once. Complete.
1. DAY 0

"Good evening, passengers. In just a few minutes, dinner service will be provided. In the meantime, we invite you to look at Sinnoh to your left before the sun sets, where you can see Mount Coronet and the impressive mountain range it sits in..."

Red leans his head against the cool walls of the cabin, following the jagged peaks of Sinnoh's mountains with his eyes and wishing he were there instead. The chilly circulation in the airplane is not unlike the icy breezes that plague Mount Silver, but still not frigid enough to soothe his flushed forehead. It helps that Unova is a slightly shorter flight than to Kalos and that the League ensured all Tournament VIP got the roomier space in first class, even though Unova is only closer by an hour and the stiff decor of the first class section makes it a challenge to relax.

He feels Green lean over to check out the sights from the window. It only takes a minute for Kanto and the sun to disappear behind them. Red tugs at a stray thread on his jeans – one that Pikachu would likely be playing with if Pokemon were allowed to roam in the cabin.

"Man," Green says, leaning back into his own plump seat. "Hope the airplane food is as good as Kalos did it."

It isn't, they note, as they poke at some semblance of breaded meat and Unovan-style pasta, but the dessert tray afterwards makes up for it. Red steals several spoonfuls of ice cream behind Green's back while he's distracted chatting up a flight attendant, telling her glorified details of what it's like to be such an in-demand Champion ( _former_ , of course, but Red's mouth is too full to cheekily interrupt).

Red plops the provided airline pillow against Green's arm, ignoring the protests, and pulls his hat brim down in a half-hearted attempt to sleep.

* * *

Taking the slow cruise to Kalos felt so much smoother compared to air travel when he first made the trip to the far west. Green's strange, roundabout arguments to get Red back to living in society (or the very least, at sea level) worked only after a deal was met to share keys to his Viridian apartment and to not complain whenever Red stopped by to raid the fridge. Green complained anyway.

Switching frequently between Green's couch, his mother's house, and nearby regions seemed to be the best way to occupy his time and appear too busy to return to the League. While Red's thoughts were still frozen miles above in the sky, wondering how to adapt to a land he once knew, Green had always kept rooted to the ground, pouring over foreign language books and paper applications which Red didn't glance at twice. He wished he did, after coming back from a three month trip to Hoenn and noticing Green's fridge was not only empty, but unplugged from its socket.

His stays in Pallet become a bit longer after that, and his mother never questioned or complained as they quietly fell back into how they were before he left. He waited for the inevitable interrogations, the tears over his silence, the frustrated shouting at her son's recklessness and explanations he never offered. Instead, she was as placid as the town itself, only ever asking for help with the dishes and dusting, and for Red to call at least once if he went on another grand adventure. Whenever Red did return, the television was tuned into the same channel and the backyard garden more barren than when he was a kid. He brought his mother berry seeds from Sinnoh and old fashioned wind chimes from Johto, hoping that at least he'll see saplings in the garden during his next visit.

Green returned for holiday breaks sometimes, and predictably liked to remind Red about not seeing him before he left for Kalos, and some other complaint about telling Red his departure dates on numerous occasions while Red's attention was focused on flipping through his worn Pokedex. An argument flared up, some hair-pulling was made on Green's part, and it miraculously concluded with their agreement that neither of them had been very good listeners to each other.

A change took place after that, slowly building like the rolling waves curling against the cruise liner he took to Kalos. Red knocked on Green's apartment door with no prior announcement of his arrival and went straight for the fridge, noting more kinds of cheeses than he thought could even exist while Green sputtered and gaped from the entryway.

The world seemed so much bigger with Green at his side, who translated a regional map for him after several hours of rants ("You can't just crash at someone place when they're in the middle of exams!") and asked unnecessary questions ("So did you swim here or use Pikachu as a flotation device?"). Red noticed little differences as he pretended to remember all the foreign names being rambled off to him: the reading glasses slipping down Green's nose, the spiky hair no longer quite as messy compared to his rambunctious childhood days, and the sharper, more mature features that hit Red like an Onix's Rock Slide.

They were becoming adults, and while Green always worked to be one step ahead, Red wasn't sure he would catch up this time. So he stuck to Green even closer to keep up, almost as though they were young children again, but Red couldn't shake the thought that it wasn't quite the same feeling.

He also noticed the tension in Green's shoulders, the low glances when Green thought Red wasn't looking, the funny-looking frown that he tended to make when there was something he wanted to say, but chose to bitterly swallow it down for the sake of pride.

Only then did Red realize he'd noticed that same tension and frowns coming from Green for years, long before their journeys as Trainers, but never before gave it a second thought. Merging Green's life back into his own meant facing what he'd left behind. Knowing this fact, Red decided to move forward and ask the question.

Naturally, Green was annoyed that he wasn't the first to ask about a dinner date.

* * *

The most he can get is a light dozing after the cabin lights dim. Green, far more used to overseas travel, snoozes away as Red eases out of his seat and emerges into the spacious aisle. The rest of Kanto's and Johto's elite are with them, some reading with tiny lights and some curled up in blankets. Misty appears to be drooling over her shared armrest with Brock as she sleeps, and Morty stays fixated on staring out the window, despite the night making it too dark to see anything.

From what they'd been told, everyone would travel together, from the same flight to the same hotel. Red roams up the aisle once, ticking off a mental checklist of each face, then goes back down again to the front.

Lance looks up from his book when Red approaches and waits silently. Next to him, Claire glances over briefly, then sighs and returns to gazing at nothing out the window.

"Hello, Red," Lance starts carefully. "Having trouble sleeping? It's not easy getting used to traveling like this."

Red looks up the aisle, checking every face again before speaking lowly.

"Where is he?"

Claire's hard stare falls on him again. Lance taps a finger against the book's worn cover, waiting several moments as though he expects Red to clarify. When Red doesn't, he chuckles and turns a page.

"Pikachu and the others are in special pokeball holding containers below. Remember seeing them before we boarded? He'll be just fine."

Red returns to his seat and drops down hard, teeth sinking deep into the inside of his mouth and eyes looking past the airplane window, searching for anything in the darkness to distract his thoughts. Green jerks awake from the motion, drops his pillow, then immediately ruffles up his hair to ensure it hasn't lost its style.

"You sleep at all?"

"A little," Red lies. He bumps a knee against Green's. "Sorry."

He leans against the wall again, observing dark shapes swirl outside the window. Green takes a breath like he wants to speak, but sighs loudly instead and settles back into his seat.

* * *

Nothing in Kanto and Johto combined is this _noisy_ , Red thinks, as they finally stumble out of the Castelia airport. Heavy buses line the doors outside with metal barriers keeping photo-happy fans out of arm's reach. Red feels his vision cross when the cameras start flashing off a storm, and he keeps his hat low until he climbs into the dimly lit bus. He doesn't bother with looking behind him, knowing Green will linger for a bit to smile for the cameras, soaking up the attention worthy of his family name.

The jetlag weighing down his eyelids doesn't stop him from looking out the bus windows during the ride to Driftveil. Castelia itself is huge, and it's a while before the scenery changes into a smooth countryside. Red's heard of vast deserts and powerful rivers throughout the region, relentless and challenging to even the hardiest of travelers. It doesn't take long for Green to see the glint in his eye and pull on his ear, peeling Red's cheek off the window.

"Don't even think about it. Tournament first."

"We could still travel here after it." Red bats at the hand to free his ear. Green shrugs and sinks back into his seat, stretching out his legs as much as he can. "You want to?"

" _Tournament first_."

In Driftveil, Green walks around the new hotel suite like every bit of decor was added for his arrival. Red's not used to the full Champion treatment, having left before it could kick in. The bed's bigger than the one in their Viridian apartment, and the sleek bathtub has jets. Red's hesitant to kick his dusty shoes into any of the polished corners, and getting near the bottled water with enormous price tags looks risky. Nothing about the room is like the few hotels he's bothered to stay in, or like the traditional Ecruteak inn Green once took him to where the rooms were cozy and the roll-out futons were all they needed to be comfortable (despite Green's complaints about back pains the next morning).

Dropping his pack on the cushioned, decorative bench seems to be the safest place. He takes out his pokeballs first, eager to get them back on his belt and Pikachu freed. A distant roaring of airplane jets still rings in his ears.

Finished basking in the high-class ambiance, Green drops a hand on Red's shoulder before he can open the pokeball. "Let's get changed and go to the dinner, alright?"

"Go ahead. I'll start training." He rubs an eye hard enough to see white spots. His body still feels miles above the earth, and it must show.

"Dinner, then sleep," Green insists, giving his shoulder another firm tug. "Then training at whatever dumb hour you decide to wake up tomorrow morning."

Red's body is buzzing too much to give much protest. He takes his pokeballs anyway, just to feel their familiar weight on his belt, and follows Green down the elevators and to the dining hall.

The massive room is already packed with Leaders and League representatives by the time they arrive, all crowding around circular tables or picking appetizers off silver platters from several waiters running around. Red sits between Lance and Green and eats as quickly as he can, ignoring the conversation topics floating around him. The food is admittedly a treat after picking at the in-flight dinners and filling up on ice cream. He pushes aside his plate within minutes and nudges Green's leg under the table. Green looks over to him and takes the longest sip possible of his soup, choking on the last drop when Red's foot comes back with a more encouraging kick.

The chatter in the room drowns out Green's pointed grumbling as they leave the dining hall in a hurry. Red turns his head away from the other tables, feeling stares and hearing whispers from the more distant-region Leaders who have never seen the much-rumored Champion in the flesh. He makes a quick detour to loop around the Kanto Leaders' table, stepping back when passing by Surge, who appears to be in the middle of some animated story with frantic arm gestures.

He counts only seven Kanto Leaders at the table. Green yanks his arm when Red takes a step back towards the Champion table where Lance still sits.

"Hey. This way."

Red nods silently and digs his fingers into the side of his temple once Green turns away. He wishes he pressed the League for cruise tickets to Unova instead.

Green taps his foot irritably during the elevator ride back to the top floors. Red closes his eyes and sways on his feet, the walls of the elevator seeming to curl in like an airplane cabin. He rushes out in front of Green when the doors ding and open up.

They bump elbows as they shower together, desperate to wash off the jetlag and get into bed faster. His head is swimming by the time he lies on the overstuffed pillows that crane his neck up oddly; they're immediately shoved to the floor. Green falls in after and reaches under the sheets to squeeze his arm. Despite the long journey, it takes Red several hours to fall asleep, with black and red shapes burning beneath his eyelids.


	2. DAY 1

His body decides that five in the morning is good enough. Green stirs even less than he did on the plane, no doubt deciding the night before that past noon is a suitable time to get up. It takes Red only a minute to dress and escape out the front lobby of the hotel.

The rest of Driftveil sleeps but there are plenty of signs to point Red in the right direction, thankfully all listed in multiple languages. He walks more slowly to the Tournament stadium, breathing in the cool morning fog while the roads are still empty. It's not until he reaches the stadium entrance that he wonders if there's an official check-in procedure, but the uniformed attendees seem to recognize him and leap out of their seats to open the doors. Red's grateful he can't understand their excited babbling.

In the open training lot behind the stadium building, sharp air cuts past him and threatens to take his hat. He ducks and looks up, seeing Falkner soar above with his Pidgeot through the mist, slicing out clear streaks of sky in their wake. Sabrina remains below, sitting in meditative thought next to her Alakazam. Red isn't the superstitious type, but his fingertips tingle when he sneaks past her.

He picks an empty spot towards the edge of the training zone, back turned to the other Leaders as they slowly trickle in throughout the morning. Pikachu zips around Snorlax like a fresh lightning bolt, stirring up static electricity that makes Snorlax's stocky ears twitch. Blastoise, usually the prouder one of the team, roars with each powerful burst of water from his cannons. Lapras and Charizard are normally lazy in the mornings, but even they display the utmost focus, challenging each other by spitting icicles and fireballs between them.

Red observes his team in a daze, hearing a faint buzz of jets persist in his ears. Venusaur approaches from behind and nudges Red's elbow with his snout, giving a flat gaze when his Trainer helplessly shrugs a shoulder. Red knows that mother-hen look that Venusaur expertly developed years ago; the one that says _you better have slept and ate breakfast, but I know you didn't._

"I brushed my teeth," Red offers as his defense. He starts calling back his team to their pokeballs before Venusaur can start frowning harder.

To Venusaur's credit, breakfast does sound pretty good right now. Red pulls down his hat and passes by the other early-bird Leaders to leave the training lot. Only Sabrina is unmoved since the start of the morning, still like a statue except for her eyelids fluttering. Her mouth parts when Red moves by, her voice coming out deep and syrupy before he can leave.

"I know what's on your mind."

Red stops and stares back, torn between just leaving or waiting to see if she has any insight – any information – _anything_ on the one matter that people here should be talking about nonstop, but aren't.

Not that it's entirely Red's business. He came here to battle, nothing more.

"We're all thinking it," she finally continues. "I saw you last night at dinner. How is it that a man like him is allowed here? What conditions were met to guarantee his cooperation? I see a final desperate attempt..."

Red swallows down the questions bubbling on the back of his tongue. Eyes still closed, Sabrina cranes her head from side to side, Alakazam matching her movements.

"He's been here the whole time." Her head tilts back, whites of her eyes peeking through her eyelids. "Yes. He's been here – for years."

Red turns away and leaves the training lot with more urgency in his steps. _Here to battle_ , he repeats to himself, once he's certain he's far enough from Sabrina, _nothing more_.

* * *

White light flares past Red's eyelids and reflects off the brim of his hat. He turns his head the opposite way, only to feel more heated light burning over him. The Tournament's opening ceremony raises the noise to some inhuman level, combined with cheering crowds and confetti poppers raining from the stands. He looks past Green (enthusiastically waving to the crowd and blissfully unaware of the confetti stuck in his hair) and counts down the line of Gym Leaders. Kanto's line is short by one.

They're ushered off the stage for an official welcome tour by Tournament staff members, who are all overeager to show off the upper VIP observation suites and basement tunnels beneath the battle arena to their elite guests. The only feature in the entire tour that stands out to Red is the stage flooring specially (or allegedly, he thinks with a skeptical look) designed to withstand even the strongest of Fissures or poorly aimed Hyper Beams – with plenty of backup floor panels to swap out, just in case.

They're left on the VIP floor at the end of the tour, which holds furnished and catered suites in the middle of the stands, surrounded by thick glass to dull the noise and soften the lights from the stadium. Once inside the main lounge, Red walks past the stiff sofas and pastry tables and takes a simple chair up to the windows where the stage view opens up unobstructed. The other Leaders gradually wander in – Red doesn't look to see who's around, but he can hear Whitney's excited gasp behind him when the stage lights dim and music starts blaring from the amps.

"They really got her!" she cries, yanking open the glass door to the suite's outer balcony. Green follows along with Misty, looking equally excited to see the pop artist strolling out on stage for the opening show. Through the blaring beats, Red thinks he recognizes the tune from one of the tracks on Green's pokegear.

The rest of the Leaders either spill out to watch the performance or stay indoors to grab the complimentary snacks and leave for one of the other private observation lounges. Jasmine gets to the balcony last and slides the door shut behind her, giving Red an empathetic look through the glass before joining the others. The suite still thrums with the concert outside, but it's the first quiet moment Red's had all day. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, already planning on sitting here until the first tournament ends.

Barely a minute passes before the suite doors open and disrupt the silence. Red glances over to see Lance, plus another man behind him that Red doesn't recognize sporting a tan trench coat despite Unova's summer heat. They approach him with painstakingly slow steps, and it's enough to make Red already regret coming here.

"Red." Lance comes to his side by the windows. "If you have a moment?"

Red says nothing, and Lance waits a few seconds before continuing, gesturing at his guest.

"I don't believe you've met. This is Inspector Looker. He's with the International Police and has been investigating multiple high-profile crimes in several regions."

Red keeps very still in his chair, feeling his limbs stiffen as he mentally puts together the possible reasons for this conversation. He continues to stare at them, staying silent and waiting for the other men to continue first. Looker and Lance exchange a quick glance, then Looker speaks.

"We're aware you encountered Team Rocket when you first set out as a Pokemon Trainer. However, you never filed official reports with the police on how many encounters you had, and what occurred during them."

Red's fingers curl along the edge of his chair, the dulled outside music pulsing loudly in his ears.

"Is he really here?" he asks.

Looker and Lance exchange another look.

"He's here – somehow," Lance answers, crossing his arms. "He won't tell us how he got into Unova in the first place. But we have a deal, and I have his word on behaving during the Tournament."

"Why are you asking for this?" Red presses. He can't believe anyone would buy promises on _behaving_.

"That is information we can't disclose," Looker responds carefully.

"Everything happened over a decade ago. Why now?"

"...That is also information we can't disclose."

"Red." Lance's hand hovers over his shoulder, then retracts. "I hope you'll consider it."

Red returns to watching the concert, hoping that's enough to signal the conversation is over. Footsteps shuffle behind him, soft murmurs following after, then silence as the suite door clicks shut.


	3. DAY 2

Red wakes to the soft tone of wind chimes coming from his pokegear. He groggily pushes himself up on one arm, rubbing sleep out of one eye and using the other eye to stare at the pokegear on the nightstand. It's easy to forget about the device after years of carrying barely any modern technology on him, and he's certain he forgot to have it on his person yesterday.

It's not so urgent when only two people usually call him. One of those people appears to be in the bathroom of the hotel suite, washing up in the fancy tiled shower. Red's lips quirk when he also picks up the sound of Green's voice, humming loudly to the same tune from the opening show yesterday. Red flips open the pokegear, stares at the name displayed on the screen, then presses the call button after a hesitant second.

"Hi."

"...Oh! Oh, Red." His mother laughs softly, as though surprised to hear him. "I hope I'm not calling at a bad time. I wasn't sure with the time zone, or the scheduling..."

"It's fine. It's morning here." Red glances over to the nightstand, reading just after nine on the digital clock there. "The next battles start in a couple hours."

"Oh, good. I hope they're giving you enough time to rest after traveling. The tournaments sure look exhausting on the TV."

"It'll be fine." Red hears paper rustling in the background; his mother must have found some brochures or programming guides. "It looks like there are some good Trainers here."

"Well, I'm glad you're having fun. How's Green doing?"

"Good." Red glances over to the bathroom door, humming still present. Green has a decent singing voice. "Eating up the cameras."

"Of course he is." That gets his mother to laugh – gentle, like chimes in a garden. "He sure does work hard to put himself in the spotlight."

"Yeah."

Silence passes for a few seconds. Red swallows, feeling his pulse pound in his throat.

"Well, I'm sure you need to get back to everything," his mother says to break the silence. "I'll call you again in a few days, alright?"

"Okay." Red rubs his eye again. "Do you want a souvenir? There's, uh..."

"Oh, you don't have to." She laughs again, light like wind. "You coming to visit when the Tournament is over is all I need."

* * *

Nothing is more predictable than the fact that it goes _right_ to Green's head whenever a reporter calls for his attention by starting off the conversation with _Champion Green_.

"Well, not everyone has the determination or talent for it," Green babbles on, bumping into Red's shoulder as he leans into a confident pose in front of the cameras surrounding them in the stadium's lobby. He then hunches forward, rubbing two fingers together and putting on his most serious face possible. "It takes a little, as they say in Kalos, _je ne sais quoi._ "

Red yanks down the brim of his hat to hide the roll of his eyes. Cameras or not, he doesn't even want the tip of his chin visible in this impromptu interview that must be dragging into its tenth minute. Fortunately, the reporters are too focused on eating up Green's inspirational tales to consider switching over to the other Champion. He wonders if it's a brilliant tactic on Green's part, being deliberately loud and impressive so that Red can avoid any press interaction, but, well, it _is_ Green.

"And what does that mean?" one Johto reporter gasps, whipping her microphone back to Green.

He smirks and puts his hands on his hips in a photo-worthy pose. " _I don't know what_."

"What?" The reporters glance at each other in confusion, and Red's pretty sure one of the cameramen starts chuckling. Green sputters and waves a hand.

"No, I mean, I _know_ what it means, and it's actually – well, it's not _literally_ that, kind of..."

Red ducks away while Green fumbles with being lost in translation, cutting through the crowds until he's freed from the miniature solar system surrounding Green. Voices echo back and forth in the lobby, and he ignores each one that sounds like his name. The League did affirm that the press would be present and plentiful, and to expect a camera or microphone to be shoved in their faces when walking around. Red has nothing in mind to say for an interview, nor is he sure what he could come up with on the fly if asked. Getting out of the hub of reporters seems like the easier option.

Red lifts his head just enough to do a quick look around the grand hall of the Tournament building. The main lobby seems as crowded as possible, bursting with fans, press, and local celebrities. Ahead of him, the upper floor of the lobby is blocked off from the press – a sunny, open loft accessible by stairs or elevator, but only for Tournament VIP. Red shows his face long enough to be recognized by the security staff guarding the staircase, and he makes his way up once they step aside for him.

At the top, he finds Erika sitting on a bench that's nestled between some large potted plants. Rays from the sunroof directly above her illuminate the upper floor in soothing light. She nods at him when Red slowly approaches and takes a seat on the bench, then chuckles when she sees Green still blabbering away in the distance.

"He seems to be enjoying himself."

Red looks over the crowd as well, picking out Green smiling for the cameras and Janine signing brochures for a group of children around her. Blaine seems to be preparing to perform fire tricks in front of some reporters, until two security members grab him by the arm. Despite the hundreds of people milling around, one in particular is still missing.

"Red." Erika rests gentle fingers on his forearm. "I wish we had done more."

"Have you seen him?" he asks quickly. Erika retracts her hand, staring with surprise at hearing him speak, then politely shakes her head.

"I don't think they would let him walk around or speak to the press. But he should be appearing with us in the Kanto tournament tomorrow..."

Red finds nothing to say to that, so he chooses to sit there in silence. Erika eventually rises, gives him a courteous, small bow, and goes down the stairs to rejoin the bustling crowd.

Red watches her gradually disappear between all the reporters still crowded around the main lobby, rolling in waves like a temperamental ocean. He ditches the bench with a frown and heads for the elevators, hitting the up button for the VIP level above. Green won't mind him ducking out from the attention, or probably won't even notice him missing for the next hour.

The button doesn't immediately light up when he presses it. Red reaches to press it again, then stops when the entire building suddenly plunges into black. The excited chatter from the lobby changes into startled gasps and awes at the apparent power outage, but only a few seconds pass before the interior lights buzz back into life.

Moments later the elevator dings, still seeming to be functional, so Red pulls down the brim of his hat and enters to escape the revived conversations.

There's another person in the elevator with him, but Red can only see a pair of highly shined shoes beneath his hat brim. He keeps his head ducked, presses the button for the third floor, and leans against a wall once the doors close.

Just when the elevator begins to move, a hand reaches out and hits the red emergency stop button on the console.

"Hello, boy."

A familiar drop plunges in his stomach, one that he hasn't felt since that fiery night at the top of Silph's tower. His arm jerks in reflex to grab a pokeball from his belt – any ball, any he can grab first – and moves so fast that his elbow smacks against the metal wall behind him. It tingles numbly, stunned from the impact, and he's not quick enough with his other arm to stop the man's hand from clenching into his shirt and slamming the rest of his body into the wall. Red grabs onto the arm pinning him, breathing hard through his teeth and finally looking up at the man who's been a plague in his mind since the World Tournament was officially announced.

 _Giovanni_. Each inhale brings a whiff of tobacco lingering on the man's black clothes, and Red knows from past experience that it's going to sit in his nostrils for the next hour. Even with less of a height difference between them now, Giovanni still knows how to appear large and imposing, draped in a heavy coat and hovering directly over Red like a starving Fearow. Few things seem to have changed, but up this close, there's no missing the deeper lines in his face and the streaks of silver along his hairline that his hat can't hide.

Red's not going to question why here, why now, and why this happened in the first place. He peels one hand away, aiming for a pokeball again, until Giovanni speaks.

"You know the Johto Champion, don't you?"

Red blinks, hand hovering just next to his belt, trying to not appear dumbfounded at the unexpected question in their first encounter in years.

"What about him?" he asks slowly.

"Who are his friends?"

Red can't be sure what to say in a conversation he never expected to happen. Giovanni leans in more to make his point, and Red scrunches his nose, catching another waft of cigarettes.

"I'm sure my retainers have noticed I'm gone by now, so we don't have the time. Who are the Champion's friends?"

"I..." Red shakes his head, going for confused honesty in his answer. "I don't know. I don't really talk to League members."

They both jolt when the elevator groans to life and starts to move. Red lowers his arm when Giovanni releases him and steps back, simply observing him with a thin smile. Red doesn't want to take his eyes off him, still expecting some sort of trap or attack.

When the elevator dings and the doors open to the lobby floor, he realizes he already fell into the trap the moment he stepped into the elevator.

He winces when camera lights flash in rapid succession and the elevator floods with noise. Red holds a hand up to his eyes and peers through his fingers, seeing the sea of reporters right outside the elevator, only held back from a tight line of security personnel. Three guards rush into the elevator and surround Giovanni in a ring, ushering him out and past the press before they can get to him. Some reporters still try to lean over security, yelling out questions and holding up their microphones in hopes for a sound bite. The rest keep their cameras pointed at Red.

Giovanni looks over his shoulder as he's guided away, shooting another sharp smile at Red. One of the guards hits the elevator button, and the doors close, shutting Red in and sealing away the lights and noise.

* * *

Later that night, Red lies sideways across the couch while Green stands in front of their room's television, arms crossed and remote in hand as he watches the nightly news.

It's all in Unovan, but there's no mistaking what the top story is about. Video footage of Giovanni emerging from the elevator plays on a constant loop from different angles, half of them also revealing Red standing in the back of the elevator, wide-eyed as the doors close a couple seconds later. Bright red text runs at the bottom of the screen a mile a minute, regularly showing their names written in Unova's lettering, and multiple commentators pitch their conspiracy theories on what could have happened.

Red finds he prefers not to know what they're saying. He pulls his hat down to block the screen and rolls onto his back, hearing Green sigh and the television powering off.

"Well?"

"What?"

"How did this happen?"

"Don't know." Red flicks his hat back up, but keeps his gaze away from Green. "He must've gotten into the elevator before the power..."

He trails off, just now reflecting on the logistics of that explanation. How would Giovanni be able to slip into the elevator undetected by the dozens of watchful eyes around him, all while knowing exactly when to take advantage of an unexpected power outage?

Green drops the remote onto the coffee table and hovers over Red, trying to get his eyes back on him.

"Hey. I'm not gonna make you do it, but I think you should submit a statement to that inspector."

Red frowns, feeling irritation bubble in his stomach. It's the last subject he wants to talk about right now, when the newscasters' chatter hasn't stopped ringing in his ears.

"Why?"

"Because it doesn't matter how long ago it was, and _I care_."

"You didn't care back at Silph."

Red's never regretted something he's done so quickly before. He plants a palm over his mouth, as though scolding it for letting those words out, but the damage is already done. Green's heading for the door, well out of reach by the time Red pushes himself upright from the couch.

"I'm sorry, I didn't–"

"You know what? Don't even start. I need some air."

Red can't get in another word before Green slams the door shut. He falls back to the couch and drags a hand down his face, clenching his teeth until they ache.

* * *

Red has committed the crime of reminding Green about himself at his worst.

The hollow silence in the hotel suite is much like the empty caves of Mount Silver, despite the bustling city and Tournament activity just outside the building. Red observes people milling about from the bedroom window, pointlessly trying to pick out a messy orange hairstyle cutting through the crowds. Green's definitely gone, mixed into an unfamiliar city, and for the first time in his life, Red can't bring himself to chase after him.

Even with the empty room and blissful silence, Red finds he needs something more within it. He paces around the suite, stopping to stare at the elaborate furniture and overpriced water bottles in the mini-fridge. The television is an immediate no, with its channels probably still running footage of Giovanni on loop, and Red can't remember how to operate the radio on his old pokegear. He lets out Pikachu from his pokeball, who chirps in greeting and climbs onto his shoulder.

The least he can do in the downtime is attempt to unpack. He picks through his small suitcase, remembering he meant to hang the one decent shirt he brought for the ending ceremony, but it's missing, along with most of the other items he packed. Red frowns and checks the closet, seeing the shirt already hung and free of wrinkles. Green must have done it himself in the morning, knowing that Red would forget. Next to it, the rest of Green's clothes are already hung and taking up as much of the closet space as possible. Red remembers how Green toiled over his fashion the week before, assembling outfit after outfit to ensure he looked the absolute best each day the world's eyes would be on him.

Red takes a step back to peer around the corner to the bathroom. It looks as though Green's also arranged all their toiletries, with toothbrushes and products here and there on the counter. It's really just a toothbrush and razor for Red, and everything else is for Green – hair products, face cream, and that nice cologne that Red won't say aloud smells incredible on his skin.

It doesn't matter what Red chooses to look at – every corner of the room reminds him of Green in some way. Red shuts the closet door and rests his forehead against it, bumping up the bill of his hat. Pikachu, sensing his Trainer's mood, sighs along with him.

Then his stomach growls.

The room service menus are thankfully provided in multiple languages, but Red still struggles to comb through them. Each item looks luxurious, as though the hotel's imported the fanciest dishes right out of Kalos, and all are marked with prices that make Red's eyes cross. The trip is paid for, all travel, lodging, and food expenses included for each VIP guest, but he can't bring himself to add onto the League's bill so dramatically. Pikachu sighs with him again as he closes the menu.

Red sets the menu on the desk and notices that Green's left his pokegear behind. He picks it up and rotates it around in his palm, noting the device's sleekness and clear lack of scratches, unlike Red's older model pokegear. He flips it open, not expecting to see anything, and raises a brow when he does.

The photo gallery is open, and it appears Green's been busy snapping pictures since they landed in Unova, mostly of the scenery or himself. There's just a few of Red so far, either in the middle of training or cramming breakfast pastries into his mouth. Red scrolls through the gallery aimlessly, seeing snapshots of them eating out in Viridian, lazing around in their apartment, and their last getaway to Johto.

Red's thumb freezes once the scenery in the pictures changes to their trip to Hoenn last year. Green's holding the pokegear up in the last photo taken there, the device reflected in his sunglasses, and sporting his biggest smile while Red's occupied with stuffing his face over a sundae, a smudge of ice cream on his cheek. Red remembers this happening just before sunset, and afterwards Green took him by the hand onto the beach, where he asked a particular question.

It was a question that Red didn't have an answer for then, and still doesn't to this day.

He drops the pokegear carelessly onto the desk when he hears knocking at the door. Red rushes over and barely remembers to flip the lock before yanking open the door, stepping forward and just managing to stop himself before colliding with the person standing outside.

It's Lance, with a to-go cup of hot tea in one hand and a manila envelope in the other. They stare at each other quietly for several moments before Lance clears his throat and speaks.

"Good evening, Red. Were you on your way out? I just wanted to drop this off."

Red steps back and drops his gaze to Lance's feet. The envelope appears in his vision, and he slowly takes it from Lance's hands.

"I know you haven't decided on anything yet, but I'd appreciate it if you took at look at this. Let me know what you think?"

"What is it?" Red's fingernails dig into the thick paper. It must be about the supposed police case into Giovanni, but he assumes Lance won't outright say it, in case it makes Red shove the envelope right back into his face. That thought seems to be confirmed by the way Lance simply waves him off with a cheery grin, already stepping away to go back down the hallway.

"Just some pictures. We can talk more about it tomorrow."

Red stands in the doorway long after Lance has left, picking at a corner of the envelope. The center of it has _confidential_ written in red ink, and the flap is sealed down with a few layers of tape. Red shakes his head and tucks the envelope beneath his arm, finally moving to close the door.

He stumbles a step when the door resists and presses back. He peers around it, smelling something hot and fresh that makes his stomach groan with renewed hunger. It's Green on the other side of the door this time, pushing it open with one hand and holding a brown pizza box in the other.

"You would not _believe_ how long the line was at this place," Green starts, rolling his eyes and passing by Red like he hasn't been gone for several hours. "And right when I try to leave they're asking for autographs, which I'm gonna give them, of course, but the food's gonna be ice cold by the time I get out of there–"

* * *

Red's back to where he was a few hours ago, lying on the couch and staring at everything but Green. He can still see him in the corner of his vision as Green paces around the suite – one hand on his hip, the other holding a pizza slice – and makes up for the lack of conversation by munching on his dinner noisily. When Green dips into the bedroom for a moment, Red pushes aside the pizza box and slowly pops open Lance's envelope. As he slides out the contents onto the coffee table, his meal rolls queasily in his stomach.

There's four photographs inside of four different people – two of whom he's unsure if he recognizes, and two of whom he hasn't thought about since he was in Sevii. Red grips onto the picture of a blue-haired man until the corners crease. There's no note in the envelope, nor any writing on the back of the photographs, but Red's certain they're the same group that rose from the ashes that Giovanni left behind, based on what Ethan's told him. He can't tell if this means the League's found out that he cleared out Team Rocket's Sevii operation all those years ago, or if Lance is just trying to throw any leads he has at Red and see what sticks.

Green returns to help himself to another slice of pizza and pauses, eyes locked on the photographs for a few seconds. Red curls his toes in his socks, daring the risk of bringing up more topics that Green won't take kindly to.

"Have you seen them before?"

"Nah, never." Green shrugs flippantly and goes back to determining which is the next-largest slice to take. "What about them?"

"They were in that Sevii warehouse."

Green glances up briefly, locking Red's gaze for the first time since he returned to their hotel room.

"The League doesn't know about that one, right?"

"Right." Red catches himself tapping a heel to the floor, and forces himself to stop. "Giovanni asked if I knew Ethan's friends."

"What?" Half of the toppings on Green's slice falls into the box. "Why that of all things?"

"No idea." Red looks up at Green, ignoring the spot of red sauce on his chin for now. "You know them, don't you?"

Green makes a sour face, not from the topping-less bite of pizza he's having, but from reflecting on the chatty Johto Champion.

"I mean, Ethan might as well be friends with _everyone_." Green joins him on the couch, sitting next to his legs. Red feels warmth as their bodies gently touch, and he inches a bit down the couch to soak in more. "But I think there's those two he normally hangs out with. Lyra and...a boy with red hair. What was his name again...?"

Hours later, they pull up the bedsheets and face opposite ways as they tuck in for the night. Red sleeps poorly, tossing and turning like the unforgiving ocean currents around Seafoam Islands. Memories of Team Rocket have never disrupted his sleep like this, but his mind buzzes and churns, desperately trying to dig up something fuzzy from several years ago. The smell of that warehouse in Sevii was the worst out of all their hideouts, sickly and rotten in the air, and Red quickly found out why as he broke in. At least Silph's labs were kept to basic sanitation standards even when overtaken, as though some of the Rocket scientists still _cared_ , but the Sevii warehouse was full of members who didn't concern themselves over whether the Pokemon's cages were washed daily.

That group was the foulest, with their ringleader smiling coldly and his whip licking hotly against trapped Pokemon, and it doesn't surprise Red that they would emerge from their own filth years later in front of Ethan – but there's a different underlying factor that makes Red shift restlessly through dawn. One of the Rocket pseudo-scientists, who stuck behind with the strange radio machines while the rest of the Grunts fled, made a declaration that Red didn't care about back then.

By the time he thinks he's about to unearth it, he finally falls asleep.


	4. DAY 3

Up on the stadium's VIP level, Red gets directed by an attendant into a small suite, and meets Lance right behind the door, just like last night. This time, however, Lance's optimistic demeanor seems to have vanished overnight. He stays silent as he steps back and waves a finger at Red, encouraging him into the suite and making no effort to hide the way he's looking over Red's shoulder. Red exhales slowly and enters, masking a sleepy yawn beneath his sigh, and waits for the door to shut behind them before speaking up.

"Are you here to remind me about my testimony?"

"Yes, but...well." Lance clears his throat, looking uneasy. "Some circumstances have changed. Inspector Looker had to leave for Kalos on an emergency assignment."

Red immediately snaps into wakefulness. Surely there's no circumstance possible on this earth that makes having Team Rocket's leader around _not_ be the top emergency. Lance raises a hand, seeing the blistering shift in Red's expression.

"There are bigger threats in the world these days, and ones happening right now. And as far as we know, he hasn't caused any incidents for several years. He's not a priority right now."

Not a priority, despite the theft, conspiracy, and blatantly-obvious money schemes. Red looks over to the tall glass windows, where an announcer proudly declares the start of the Kanto Leaders Tournament from the center of the stage. A moment later, Brock emerges and waves at the cheering crowds.

"Are you going to tell me about this deal you made with him?"

Lance taps at his chin, gaze jumping between Red and the windows.

"I know you don't like this, Red, but this is a police matter. There's only so much I can say."

Red turns away to grab a chair and sit by the windows to watch the battles. To his surprise, Lance does the same a minute later, sitting next to him and lacing his hands together. They stay there silently and watch Brock battle, the stage tiles just barely vibrating from each of his Pokemon's rocky impacts, but remaining intact as promised.

"I'm sure you know that we can't convict someone of a crime without evidence," Lance says halfway through the fight. "There's plenty of it we have against Giovanni, but not for everything. A full testimony from you can fill in the gaps."

"The press kept going to my mom's house," Red says, eyes still on the battle. "When I was – away."

"I know. I should have stepped in sooner."

"Why are you stepping in now?" Red waits until Brock's Golem falls, then glances over at Lance. "None of this is part of the job for a Champion...right?"

Red trails off, thinking of his own experience – the photograph, the quick ceremony, and off on his own again – but that was years ago, and he realizes he's forgotten much of the uneventful process by now. Lance meets his puzzled look with a small smile and a shrug.

"It hasn't changed much since you held the title. The type of Champion you are is up to you. Some Champions in the past took it only as a verbal title. That said..."

Lance rises from his seat, staring out to where Misty is bouncing up onto the stage for her turn.

"I choose to see it as more than a title. It's something I should have done when you were facing Team Rocket on your own. I was able to help chase them out of Johto with Ethan – now I'd like to finish up what's left."

Lance exits the room by the time Misty's battle has started, leaving Red on his own without another word.

* * *

Halfway through the Kanto Leaders Tournament, Red's only been able to jot down a few lines on a notepad. He opted to stay in the small suite, leading to a bit of a mouthful from Green when he finally found him, but he prefers it over the luxury suites decked out for Champions and Leaders. The only downside is the lack of pastry tables and bottomless coffee, which Green gathers for them from the other suites. Red moves to a small couch and taps a pen against the notepad, reading over his notes for the hundredth time.

 _Silph Co_

 _date: ?_

 _time: 9 pm? maybe_

 _president held hostage_

 _100 stolen Pokemon (or more?)_

 _Pokemon battle in office_

 _office window 11 floors_

"Are you gonna do it?" Green drops a hand on his shoulder when Red scratches the lines out.

"Haven't decided." Red rubs his forehead, feeling the back of his head start to pound from the previous sleepless night, and rolls over Lance's words in his mind again.

He didn't come here to redeem the inaction the League chose to take. Red's moved on, refusing to waste his time being chained down by an incident from his childhood, and the League should do the same. This entire situation must be coming from some other reason, but the clue connecting it all is still locked away behind faint memories.

Red stops massaging his temple and catches Green looking at the notepad, towards the bottom where _office window 11 floors_ is still partly legible beneath the pen scribbles. He drags more ink over that line, drawing looping circles and straight scratches to hide the words. Even with the line mostly blacked out, he eventually gives up and tears off the sheet of paper he was writing on, pocketing it for Charizard to burn later.

"Green," he starts, then pauses until he's certain with what he wants to say this time. "We promised we were – going to – talk."

"Talk things through more," Green answers curtly. He sighs, moreso in resignation than irritation, and sets his coffee cup on the table next to the couch. "I know. So talk to me."

Red squeezes the pen in his fist. Going back to being somewhat-friends with Green was easy. The initial stages of dating him was even surprisingly easy. Green's habit of acting like a romantic know-it-all worked as guidance for Red as they fell into this new rhythm, to living with each other beyond couch-crashing, to touching each other beyond a brush of hands, to communicating their true thoughts beyond the kind of challenge and sarcasm that was typical of them as kids. Communication had always been the hardest part, and made even more fragile after their trip to Hoenn, but at least they could come to an agreement to _try_.

"I haven't forgotten – what you asked me. I –"

 _"And now our final Kanto Leader, representing Viridian City – Giovanni!"_

The crowd's cheers drop like a cold chill. Both Red and Green scramble off the couch and approach the windows to view the stage. A second later, he finally emerges.

Red's vision wavers, eyes jumping all over to observe the man up and down. Giovanni lifts his hat and runs a hand through his hair, streaked silver on the sides, removing any visual doubts to the world that it's him in the flesh. He unbuttons his heavy coat to reveal the six pokeballs on his belt. They're battered and chipped, looking much like Red's own pokeballs after years of training in the harshest terrains. Besides that, there's nothing – no handcuffs on Giovanni's wrists, no restraints to keep him in place, nothing else Red can see to ensure the former Boss doesn't go rogue and break his supposed promise.

While the spectators gossip between each other, Giovanni looks past the stands and up towards the VIP deck windows. There's no way he can see clearly through the thick glass, but Red swears the man smiles right at him.

By the time Red blinks, the battle's already begun.

"Holy–" Green starts.

The yelp he lets out right after indicates he's bitten his tongue, and Red nearly does the same when the entire stadium groans and rocks side to side from the Earthquake. He stumbles to his knees and plants his hands on the carpeted floor, waiting for the tremors to stop.

When they do, he pulls himself back up to the window and sees smashed shards of the shatter-proof flooring crushed around Nidoking's foot. The opponent's Pokemon lies unconscious at the edge of the arena, several feet away from its terrified Trainer.

The crowd erupts into awed, wild cheers for Giovanni, who simply waves them off and smiles towards the VIP windows again.

* * *

Children line up for free pokeballs from a Tournament attendant in the middle of the stadium lobby. Red watches with half-interest from the VIP level's balcony, but it is more engaging than the lengthy phone call he's forced himself to do.

He holds his old pokegear away from his ear and cringes when the volume from the other line increases. Calling Ethan is no laughing matter, nor is it a short affair.

"And I swear, the Luvdisc I caught was _this big!_ " Red imagines Ethan is extending out one arm to demonstrate the size, not that Red can see it. He presses his lips together and reminds himself why he dared to waste half the afternoon by calling up Ethan. No wonder Green started chuckling at him when he asked for the Champion's number.

Red's still not sure what to think of the Trainer who braved the snow storms of Mount Silver with an eager grin on his face once he reached the summit. Ethan is so different compared to him despite their similar circumstances – young and restless from a small town, witnessing the worst sides of Team Rocket (Red didn't even know Slowpoke Tail was a _thing_ ) – but the Johto Champion has two factors that Red never had – a certain social energy, and a lack of volume control.

Nor would Red willingly spend a week at the Plateau as Ethan is doing now, handling the League's matters while everyone else runs off for a battle extravaganza in a foreign region. Too much paperwork, if he's even doing it.

"Anyway, how's it going over there?" Ethan asks, finally swinging the conversation back. "Looks like you've been keeping, uh, busy."

Red frowns, unsure at the sudden change in tone, then sighs and drags a hand down his face when he catches onto the implication. Despite their talk being over the phone, Ethan seems to know what Red's thinking.

"Yeah...sorry, man. They've been playing that clip nonstop on the news here. Was it really...?"

"He's here." Red slumps onto a nearby bench and rubs at his eyes. If that's the case, there's no way his mother hasn't seen his encounter with Giovanni by now.

"Wow..." Ethan falls silent for several seconds, for once. "How did Giovanni even sneak into the elevator?"

"Not sure." No proof of anything has come up yet, though Red's willing to wager the former Boss has a handful of Tournament employees he's charmed onto his side, or even some past Grunts who faked their backgrounds and got hired as staff once news hit of Giovanni's invite as a participating Leader. Even if that is the case, he doubts the Tournament committee will admit such sloppy security measures in the middle of the event.

"I need to ask you – what do you know about the Rocket Admins you fought in Goldenrod?" he says, trying to get their chat refocused.

"The Executives at the radio tower?" Ethan pauses again for a few moments. "What about them? They're still in prison, if that's what you're asking."

"Nevermind." He'd been hoping Ethan might have some context for the photographs given to him by Lance. If they're still behind bars, then why bring them up...? "Giovanni asked me who your friends are. Why would he ask about them? There's Lyra, and another with red hair–"

"No!" Ethan blurts out suddenly. "I'm...I have a lot of friends; you know me! I don't know why Giovanni's asking that, but he's there for a reason, and–"

Red jumps up from the bench, hand clenching tight around his pokegear. "You know why he's here?"

"Uh – no! Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I mean, he's gotta be there for some reason, right?" Ethan laughs frantically, starting to sound more distant from the pokegear's receiver. "Anyway, great talk, but I gotta go, so later!"

The line goes dead before Red can speak. He pulls the pokegear away and stares at the screen, which blares Ethan's name brightly before going dark.

He snaps the pokegear shut and twists it in his fists, having childish thoughts of tearing the device apart and letting it sink to the bottom of the ocean on the next ship back to Kanto. He thinks of snowy peaks without lights and cameras glaring his way, where he could do what he wanted without the public's eye weighing him down with ancient expectations.

Instead, he flips open the pokegear, sends his mother a quick message that he's fine and he's sorry, and calmly shuts the device.

He hunches over the balcony railing and goes back to watching children receive their free pokeballs. A young girl at the front of the line bounces excitedly, pointing at the one remaining pokeball available. The attendant laughs and begins to reach for the last pokeball, polished and shiny, in her basket.

The entire room falls into darkness a second later.

Red looks around in a frenzy, stomach churning at the familiar display. The rest of the attendees seem to have the same thoughts, their chatter now more cautious and panicked compared to the last power outage. Red blindly pats for Pikachu's pokeball at his belt and releases him, squinting at the streaks of light when he emerges. Pikachu quickly catches onto the situation and puffs his cheeks to make them glow. Red hoists him up and keeps him against his chest, only needing to wait a couple seconds more until the lights return, followed by relieved sighs from the attendees.

With the lighting now restored, Red looks down onto the lobby. Nothing seems to have changed, and the attendees simply look a little dazed. Only the young girl appears visibly frightened, and she quickly abandons the giveaway line, running away from the empty pokeball basket to her mother's arms.


	5. DAY 4

The overall organization of the tournaments is impressive, save for the abundance of cracked stage tiles whenever a Pokemon's attack hits hard enough. With how many backup tiles the staff has on hand to swap in between matches, it must have been expected, despite their initial bragging of crack-proof flooring.

It's difficult to sit back and watch the action, while Red has to wait for the Champion Tournament that's saved for the finale. He observes the Type Expert Tournament from the VIP level and takes mental notes on the team Giovanni's chosen to show off. Not all of his Pokemon are from Kanto, cheekily suggesting Unova hasn't been the man's only stop in the past decade, and with the way his team grins with their Trainer after each victory, they've been battling with Giovanni for a while. They're frightfully strong in the way they stomp, gleefully smashing up the arena whenever they can, and there are too many moments where Red wants to rush on stage and end this charade, or at least to get the crowds to stop merrily cheering for a man whose horrors the world has apparently forgotten. The handful of times that Giovanni does lose is the only thing stopping Red from interfering, and judging by the man's body language after defeat, he's still a bitter loser as ever.

As proof of his good behavior, Giovanni visibly returns all his pokeballs to a security guard once his fights are finished, in front of the crowds and cameras. Red watches every waking second of this exchange with his forehead pressed against the suite's glass, obsessively checking for exactly six rough pokeballs, or a sleight of hand, or something slipping into Giovanni's coat during the return of his team – but nothing.

The amount of nothing is distracting.

Once Giovanni leaves the stage, Red scrolls through the few contacts on his pokegear and presses the call button. Lance answers a few seconds later.

"I want to meet him," Red says first.

"Will you give me your statement if I say yes?"

"Maybe."

"...Alright."

* * *

Lance greets him at the VIP level and quietly waves at him to follow. Only the cleaning staff are still around this late at night, and they pay them no mind as the Champions head to the private upper levels of the stadium building, reserved for staff offices and tech crews. Three guards wait at a set of double doors at the end of the hallway, all looking too laid-back for Red's comfort. Lance nods at them and pushes open the doors once they silently move aside.

A small, outdoor balcony appears from behind the doors. Red steps out onto it, seeing dark silhouettes of benches and potted plants. A few lamps dimly illuminate the balcony's railing, and beyond that, distant city lights flicker across a body of water. Red notices instantly when one light stands out from the rest, red and flaring and followed by a trail of gray smoke.

Giovanni appears relaxed on one of the benches, facing away from Red to watch the dancing lights on the waterfront and gradually burning away a cigarette. He raises it to drink in the smoke, the lit end hot and bright, then tips his head back to exhale a toxic cloud into the sky. He takes his time, tapping the ashes onto the ground, and a childish fraction of Red's mind imagines the former Boss must be annoyed at the level of tobacco restrictions in this region compared to Kanto. The remaining butt gets dropped to the tile floor and crushed under Giovanni's sleek shoe. He rests against the bench's back and returns to watching the water up ahead.

When the man finally does speak, his voice comes out like worn gravel, porous and eroded down from the elements.

"I always did hope we would meet again."

Red immediately has a hand curled around a pokeball on his belt. Giovanni starts to chuckle, as though he knows what Red's doing without needing to look, then ends it with a smokey cough.

"Would you fight an unarmed man?" Giovanni plucks off his hat and lays it across his lap. "They lock away my Pokemon after each battle. Smart of them, isn't it?"

Red won't voice his agreement, but he does drop the hold on his pokeball and carefully steps around the bench. It's difficult to pick out details in the darkness of the night, but Red can see a few things: a heavy black overcoat, a stark red handkerchief in the breast pocket, streaks of grey hair along the hairline, and more wrinkles around the mouth and eyes once he's close enough to sit on the far side of the bench and observe.

Giovanni's image from years ago was firmly imprinted in his mind for so long – sharp, strong, and bluntly brutal. Sitting here next to him now, in a gentle and quiet night, makes Red suddenly struggle to remember that same imposing figure that towered over him two days ago. He quickly looks away, watching the city lights bounce on the waterfront.

"Why are you here?"

Giovanni rummages through a coat pocket, pulling out his cigarette pack for another smoke before answering.

"To battle." Red hears the flick of a lighter next to him. "Isn't it the same for you?"

"No," he lies, just for the sake of not giving the former Boss what he wants to hear. Giovanni puffs out a small laugh, clearly not believing it. "They want me to tell them about all the illegal things I know you've done."

Red looks over, seeing Giovanni in the middle of an inhale from his cigarette and brows raised in feigned surprise. He expects the exhale to be blown in his face, but to his astonishment, Giovanni turns his head and politely releases the smoke over his shoulder.

"So the League had an ulterior motive in inviting you here?"

Red turns away, not trusting his own expression to remain impassive as his teeth grit together. Giovanni's _right_.

"Oh? What a disgraceful thing to do." Giovanni makes no effort to mask the amusement in his tone. Red frowns and waves the manila envelope he brought with him in Giovanni's direction, trying to take back control over their visit.

"Look at these."

Giovanni takes the envelope and pulls out the contents, staring at Red for a long, curious moment before turning his attention to what's in hand. His movements slow as he observes each photograph, from how he shifts between them and how he puffs methodically on his cigarette. Whenever the lit end flares from his inhales, Red can catch Giovanni's expression more clearly, but what Red sees just confuses him more.

"Is this what they look like now?"

"Don't know," Red answers with a shrug. "I've only seen..."

He quickly shuts his mouth when he notices Giovanni's eyes on him, realizing there's no telling if former Boss knows the exact fate of the Sevii facility. If Giovanni really is cooperating with the police, Red won't give him any hints that could be twisted and whispered to Lance later.

"Why are you here?" Red tries again. This time, Giovanni's toxic exhale does come his way.

"Well, I'll humor you, boy." Giovanni looks over the photographs once more before stuffing them back in the envelope and tossing it onto the empty space between them on the bench. "I am here for something, in exchange for a little cooperation. But it has nothing to do with you."

"Money? Shorter prison sentence?" Red glances up. "Less grey hair?"

Giovanni ignores the low bait, dropping the remains of his cigarette and letting the stub burn away at his feet.

"Making up for lost time."

A minute later, Red shuts the doors to the balcony behind him, hands over the manila envelope to Lance without looking at him, and briskly heads down the hallway to leave the stadium.

"Anything come up?" Lance calls out.

Red has nothing to say to that, so he keeps silent and continues on his way. _Here to battle_ , he thinks. The more he repeats that, the less distracted he'll be.

* * *

"He must have a plan," Red insists, pacing around the hotel bedroom and already back to being distracted. Green sighs for the fifth time and pulls back the bedsheets.

"I just – I don't know. He seems to be following the rules like everyone else, save for the extra heaping of security breathing down his neck every minute." Green runs his hands through his hair. "I mean...people change, right? I changed."

"You're different." The retort comes out of Red before he can stop it. He keeps his face flat while Green's perks up; like he needs any extra praise after several days of being a giant magnet for the Tournament photographers.

"Yeah? Why's that?" He approaches Red, almost chest to chest with him, but with his chin raised to pretend like he hasn't lost that much height to Red since their childhood days. Red looks at him and ponders his response, feigning boredom like he's wondering which of his two pairs of jeans to wear. He eventually shrugs a shoulder and turns towards the bed.

"I'm here because you're here."

"Oh." Green stays in place even as Red moves away, blinking uselessly at the wall. By the time Green digests the comment and wanders over to join him, Red's already flicked off the lamp, letting dim lights from the city backdrop illuminate the room, and he pulls Green over faster.


	6. DAY 5

There's a twenty-four hour period where it feels like they can't keep their hands off each other.

Red intended to wake up early again to train while the morning fog hadn't yet burned away, but instead he rolls over and presses his mouth against the back of Green's neck until he wakes. It's another hour before they finally peel away from the bed and each other, but they reconnect in the shower until the entire bathroom steams up and Green complains about wrinkled fingertips. The lazy morning reminds Red of their trip to Hoenn – the leisurely walks, the afternoons still in bed, and the question Green asked there that Red continues to ponder over and over, hoping an answer will soon blossom naturally on its own.

They do manage to get to the training grounds by late morning and set their teams against one another. Green stumbles on his feet when Aerodactyl and Venusaur test their Earthquakes, then falls on his rear when Gyarados and Snorlax decide to join in on the fun. Pikachu zips past Arcanine, daring him to try and catch up. Lapras peers curiously over Red's shoulder while he's rummaging through his backpack and nods at the Sitrus Berry presented to him.

It's already late into lunch by the time they're done warming up, and with the Hoenn Leaders Tournament still going, it's the perfect opportunity to run into town for a bite while the crowds are in the stadium. Driftveil feels a bit like Celadon that's quickly moving towards a city closer to Saffron's scale and scope. The same poster is pasted around construction sites and scaffolding as they approach the city center, all boasting the slogan _A City of Billowing Sails_ in several languages. The lack of people gives Red all the room and time in the world to carefully inspect each restaurant's menu and ask for Green's expert advice.

"What does that say?"

"Hamburger."

"What is it in Kalosian?"

" _Hamburger_." If Green says that with a sarcastic twist to his accent, Red can't tell. "You know, just because it's mostly the same lettering as Kalosian, doesn't mean I can read all the Unovan on this menu."

"What about that poster behind you?"

"I swear, Red, once we get out of here..." Green continues grumbling as he looks over his shoulder, glancing at the large poster on the restaurant wall. His complaints quickly stop, and he raises his eyebrows in interest.

"Let's eat fast and get to the movie theater. I bet you'll wanna see this."

* * *

"That wouldn't happen."

"How come you only ever wanna chat nonstop in places you're supposed to keep quiet?" Green makes the effort to juggle his soda and popcorn bucket between his arms and jab an elbow into Red. Not that being quiet matters; they're the only two in the theater while the rest of the city watches the opening to the Sinnoh Leaders Tournament. "Come on, it's the movies. Of course most of it's fake."

"It doesn't have to be fake." Eyes still locked to the screen, Red blindly reaches over to grab Green's soda (his always tastes better). Even with the language barrier, the story is simple enough to follow, and much more interesting to the eye than those artsy black and white films from Kalos that Green pretends to appreciate. Unova's Champion is fascinating, emitting strength and courage despite her small stature. She seems to soak in all the glory that comes with being on the big screen – although with the staged Pokemon battles, as dazzling as they are, they tell little of the Champion's battle style.

Red prefers it that way. He grips his hands together, focused on the familiar light in the Unova Champion's eyes when she calls out attacks. It's an irritable tease to be stuck waiting for their turn to meet in battle, but for the first time since arriving in Unova, Red thinks it may just be worth it.

"Yeah, yeah," Green says through a mouthful of popcorn. He swallows with a grimace and dryly coughs. "When are we gonna make out?"

"After this battle." Red hands over the now-empty soda cup and leans forward in his seat when the Champion's Hypno unleashes a colorful blast of Psychic.

* * *

It's clearly a bad idea, but Red decides to see Giovanni again.

They're back on the dark balcony, which makes less sense to Red now that he's here for a second time. They're out in the open, even though it is nighttime and out of sight for the press' cameras, but there's nothing stopping Giovanni from leaning over the balcony rails and pondering the odds of escaping without too many broken bones if he can land in the soft trees several floors below.

"You think I can make it?" Giovanni teases, laughing and coughing on his cigarette as he leans easily against the railing. Red turns away from where he'd been staring at the trees below them and scrunches his nose, waving away lingering trails of smoke around him. Why the League's allowed Giovanni to have his smokes is a matter Red doesn't have the energy to think over.

Giovanni tilts his head back and exhales upwards this time. "You'll lose to her."

"Who?"

"The Unova Champion." Giovanni lets ash fall into the potted plant next to him. "No matter how strong you are, someday you'll lose. And you'll lose to her tomorrow."

Red thinks of glittery costumes and dazzling visual effects enhancing the Champion's presence on the big screen. It won't play out exactly like the movies once they're on the arena stage, he knows this – but whatever the outcome, he's here to battle, and to have worthy battles against the strongest. Nothing more. He just needs to keep repeating that, and then he can return to Kanto quietly, and then...

He's not sure what after that.

"Why are you really here?" As he thought, Giovanni ignores the question and puffs away at his cigarette, so Red tries again. "Why'd you ask about the Johto Champion's friends?"

"Hmm," the former Boss hums. "Curiosity."

"Do you know one of them?"

Giovanni goes quiet again. Red's a little surprised at himself, really just intending to throw out whatever he had in mind and see if anything gets a reaction. It makes more sense as he ponders over the possibility, though the thought takes a negative turn as he reflects on Lance's and Ethan's suspicious words over the past week. Do they know something beyond just some supposed investigation...?

"Champion Red," Giovanni states poetically, holding up his mostly-burned cigarette and gazing at the smoldering tip, "do you have any attachments?"

Red goes quiet this time. Undoubtedly Giovanni is once again fishing for fuel, though it seems unnecessary for this particular subject, unless he's literally been hiding under a rock for the past several years. Surely – surely Green isn't some target of revenge or part of Giovanni's agenda for being in Unova, but how brilliant that would be for Team Rocket's leader to aim straight for the throat and threaten a messy, heart-breaking outcome if his biggest enemy doesn't kneel and obey.

Red looks over the balcony, then to Giovanni, then back down to the black plunge beneath them.

"Even a man like me can have attachments," Giovanni continues, breaking Red out of those dark thoughts. "Like an anchor welded to your ankle that can sink you at any moment. And yet..."

The balcony doors suddenly rattle, and Lance appears through them a second later, signaling their time is up. Giovanni releases a heavy sigh and crushes his last cigarette under his shoe.

"Perhaps it's better to embrace it than to have nothing at all. I hope your battles tomorrow are worthy of your skills. I'll be watching."

Giovanni heads for the doors, tugging his hat tighter on his head when he gets closer to Lance. Before leaving, however, he stops and turns back to Red.

"Oh, one more thing. When you were looking over the railing, did it remind you of when I threw you out of the top floor in Silph?"

Giovanni's breathy laughter echoes down the hallway as guards lead him back to wherever the Tournament is keeping him holed up. Red would run after him, no battles outside of official Tournament brackets be damned, and throw out Charizard and see how Giovanni likes the feeling of plunging eleven stories down while battered and bleeding and bruised, if it weren't for the icy sensation in his stomach and Lance's piercing gaze rooting him in place.

Red finally manages to get the feeling back in his legs and rushes past Lance, pretending not to hear heavy boots stomping after him.

"Red–"

"Don't ask." He came here to _battle_ , not deal with...

" _Red_." He startles to a halt when Lance steps in front of him. "I understand this isn't a fair situation to put you in, so I'll be upfront – I'm doing this as a favor for someone."

Red turns away, unable to look at Lance any further. A favor. An actual, genuine _favor_ involving a man who fooled the League's system, who sacrificed life for power, who gripped a young Red by the neck at the top of Silph while the room burned around them, smiling so easily as he held Red between the edge of shattered windows and a cold drop below.

"He–" He thrusts a sharp finger in disbelief towards the balcony doors, even though Giovanni is long gone from there. "You've seen what his people have done."

"His people, yes, but not him directly. He threw you out of the top floor of the Silph building?" Lance's voice softens as he says it. "Red. Please."

The plea is gentle enough to drain some of the frustrated energy out of Red. He brushes aside the hand that Lance reaches out with and continues down the hallway, though at a slow pace so Lance can follow. So the police can add child endangerment and attempted murder to Giovanni's file, if it's not listed already – and so what? It changes nothing for Red, or for this entire situation, or for the people and Pokemon who were already affected years ago. Lance claimed he wanted to finish what's left, and he could very well do so without dragging other people in.

"Me and Charmeleon," Red eventually mutters out. "Charmeleon evolved into Charizard before we hit the ground outside."

There was no need to shout out moves after that, not that Red could with finger-shaped bruises wrapped around his neck. Charizard flew them back right up to the top floor to finish what they started, with the rest of Red's team stirring back into consciousness and surrounding the head of Team Rocket with renewed strength. Lance nods slowly and crosses his arms.

"Did anything else happen outside of Silph? If you want to talk about it."

Red thinks back to hazardous fossil sites, cold basements below the game corner, the photographs of four faces that showed zero remorse, the foul warehouse that made Red decide little had changed, and if the world hadn't yet moved on, he would move on without it. But there _was_ something else, wasn't there...?

The memory his mind has been attempting to dig up is still rooted too deeply, so Red shrugs and leaves without another word. Lance doesn't call after him, and there's no one else in Red's path as he makes his way back to the hotel.

The stadium is silent for the first time he's noticed all week, empty and hollow as Red slowly walks down the carpeted steps and polished tile. The security guards say nothing to him when he heads out of the VIP exit, and there are only a couple crew members left in the outside plaza, too far away from Red to call out their goodnights as they wrap up a round of late-night cleaning.

The street is void of traffic as Red crosses it, and the hotel lobby looks bare and exposed with all its guests having long gone to bed. No one greets him at the reception desk, and the elevators hardly make a rattle as they bring him up to his floor. Red shuts his eyes and leans into the silent thrum of the elevator, thinking of its similarities to the windy howls of Mount Silver or the humming buzz of a gentle cruise ship taking him away from it all.

When he opens the door to his hotel room, noise comes back into his life once again. There's music from the television, roaring from the electric kettle as it brings water to a bubbling boil, and Green's voice, pestering and prodding but soon going soft once Red places a cold hand on his arm.

Hot mugs are enough to quickly warm up his hands, followed by the warmth of tea down his throat and of Green's body near him as they rest on the couch and review tomorrow's schedule. Green hasn't yet changed or showered off the day, it seems, and Red looks between him and the television rolling footage of today's interviews with Trainers and celebrities. Green is often surrounded by people like him, dressed to the nines with expensive clothes and elaborate hairstyles – and yet, he still comes back to someone like Red, dressed in cheap jeans and unstyled hair he trims himself only when it starts falling in front of his eyes. He still stays up for Red, makes tea for him no matter what the weather is like, keeps his door open for him even when Red needs to leave and may not come back for weeks on end.

The second Green looks away to find wherever he'd tossed the remote, Red ducks his head and rubs at his eyes to keep them dry. He begs his mind once again to give him an answer to the question Green asked him ages ago, but even if he could find a response in that moment, he's too drowned to even speak.


	7. DAY 6

"Here we are with Leader Lenora! And it looks like her husband Hawes is here to cheer her on! So tell all of our wonderful viewers out there – what's your secret to a successful marriage?"

Red looks up from tying his shoes, watching the latest live interview from the hotel room's television. Pikachu's sitting on the table next to the television, rubbing his cheeks over the Light Ball given to him until the static makes the video flicker. Red whistles at him and gestures for Pikachu to join him on the couch. Once the video settles, the cameras are pointed at a jubilant woman, waving her hand while a meek-looking man behind her gets rosy in the face.

"Actually, I turned him down at first!" Lenora laughs.

"D-Dear..." Hawes pulls at his collar and swallows thickly, nervously looking between all the cameras aimed at them.

"Oh, don't be shy." Lenora leans into him, lightly stroking his arm. "Yes, I turned down his proposal, and that's not an easy thing to do..."

"And what changed your mind?" a reporter quickly interjects before whipping his microphone back at the couple.

"I still had to figure myself out a little first," Lenora admits softly. "We all have different thoughts about what marriage means to us. It would be kind of weird if we all felt the exact same way, right? It's natural for people to have different opinions on it, such as if it's proof of your love or if it's just a title. After pondering on it..."

Red continues watching as Lenora takes Hawes' hand, squeezing it as his anxiousness fades, and they gaze at each other fondly.

"I realized it's a wonderful way to show the world my commitment to this loving man."

He fumbles for the remote when he hears footsteps approaching, turning off the television right when Green enters the room. Green flicks at his hair, one hand on his hip and looking entirely smug about himself.

"Well? Looking good, right?"

"You look about the same," Red responds in the flattest way possible, even as his gaze lingers a little too long to make it believable (snug pants with his pokeball belt hanging loosely off his hips, a fitted shirt with all the upper buttons undone and sleeves hiked up – what a jerk). Green rolls his eyes and waves a hand at him.

"Yeah, yeah. Come here, I wanna get a look at ya."

Red rises from the couch and gets his jacket unnecessarily dusted and straightened out by Green's hands. It's just about the same outfit Red usually wears, but Green still takes his time eying him up and down. Once satisfied, Green steps next to Red and holds up his pokegear in front of them.

"Alright, picture for Daisy. _Ouistiti_."

"What?"

As tends to be the trend with most pictures, Red's off looking at something else, this time at Green in the middle of the impromptu selfie. Green looks at the photo and clicks his tongue, but doesn't appear too surprised at the half-aware expression on Red's face.

"Close enough." Green presses a few buttons to send out the picture and pockets the pokegear. "Let's get going."

"Wait." Red takes his wrist before he can step away. "Love you."

Despite the years between them, Green always looks a little surprised to hear it. Red learned long ago that it's not from shock, but from Green having gotten used to defensively setting himself up for disappointments in the past. The moment soon passes, and his expression gets replaced with his typical confident, cocky, wonderful look that Red's always been unable to tear away his eyes from.

"Yeah, you do." Green steps forward and props up the brim of Red's hat just enough to lean in for a gentle kiss. "Love you, too."

Red thinks of saying more, perhaps a _because_ or rattling off a quick list of all the things that have made him stay, but Green never demands much from him in intimate moments like these, so he remains silent and follows Green out of their room.

* * *

The Champions for the finale tournament are led through the network of tunnels in the stadium's basement and brought to an area resembling a locker room, which includes private nurses to check on their Pokemon and large television screens on the walls. Red declares his items to the nurses, hands over his pokeballs for one last healing, and sits on a bench in front of a screen, waiting for his turn to be called.

Someone joins him on the bench a minute later, and Red first anticipates it's Lance, but when he glances over, it's a woman with long, blonde hair.

"You must be Red." She smiles and holds out her hand. "We've passed each other in the hallway but I don't believe we've officially been introduced. My name is Cynthia."

He says nothing in return, but does shake her hand for a brief second. Immediately he notices calluses despite the smooth appearance of her long fingers, unmistakably hardened from a more dedicated kind of training – she's a Champion. She doesn't seem surprised at the curtness of the handshake and gives him another small smile.

"Is this your first time in Unova?"

He answers with a nod.

"I hope it's treating you well."

Red's not sure what to say to that either, so he goes back to watching the television. The cameras show spectators just beginning to fill the stadium, slowly building up a tempest of noise and energy within the building. The screen above the arena begins cycling through images of the Champions, displaying their names and home regions.

"I watched the World Leaders Tournament," Cynthia continues. "I imagine it's unsettling to see a former adversary walk free like that."

Red looks down at his shoes, pointlessly checking if the laces are still tied.

"We had a similar problem in Sinnoh." Cynthia shifts on the bench and laces her fingers together. "Well, not quite in the same style as your Team Rocket, but still with terrible intentions."

He moves to get up, but stops when her hand gently rests on his shoulder.

"Red, Trainers like you remind the rest of us that we have the ability to make a difference. Hearing your story showed me I can't sit back idly when a region I love is under threat. I've wanted to thank you personally for that for years, so – thank you."

He remains on the bench as she finally leaves him. His picture appears on the arena's screen for a few seconds, then flickers off.

* * *

It's really her, in the flesh and standing proudly on the stadium floor in front of the screaming crowds – just without the sparkling movie costumes that he's only seen on Unova's Champion so far. Her energy reminds Red of Ethan – a balance of pinpoint focus and pure thrill in facing whatever foe comes her way. It's clear she's an incredible Trainer, sweeping Alder and Wallace off their feet in minutes, and her beaming smile during each fight never wavers.

Red feels the same energy beginning to build up in his stomach in his match against Cynthia, finding it easy to concentrate and drown out the roaring crowds and flashing lights. Any worries he might've had about sensory overload on the stadium floor are muted in the background, and all he hears are his Pokemon's calls. This is where he's wanted to be the entire time, adrift in the world and only needing to hear the crackling of Pikachu's electricity to feel at home. He's freed from the stuffy stadium he's forced to fight in, the past obligations people try to bind him to, and the uncertainty of what comes next.

He snaps back into the moment when Cynthia's Garchomp falls. Red glances over to the rolling sea of spectators, seeing awed expressions and homemade signs in multiple languages being waved his way. Red thinks it's more people than he's ever seen in one place in his life, and he continues staring long after the Tournament announcer has declared his victory.

Cynthia eventually approaches him and holds out her hand, mouthing _thank you_ over the noise. Red shakes her hand, nods in response, and quickly strides off the floor, down the steps, and back to the cool calm of the locker room below.

Green blows kisses to the crowd when he saunters onto stage and matches the same pose as the picture of him on the arena's screen. Red squirms on a bench as he watches from the television, trying to resist the temptation to run out of the basements and see the action from the upper balconies himself. Green is a sight to behold when battling, expressive and taunting, loud and proud as he waves his arms and pumps a fist into the air. The fights are long and intense enough to create a thin sheen of perspiration on the back of his neck, making him flick his hair and tug his shirt away from his chest to get some fresh air, and Red hates him all over again.

Green's victorious over Steven, but falls to the Unova Champion in the next round. He's haughty as always in his body language after taking a loss, but he stills laughs with the Champion and pats her on the back in congratulations.

Red stares hard at Lance during their match in the semifinals, barely moving his hands for each order he gives his Pokemon. It's unfair and cruel, and he hopes that Lance understands to never put them in a battle situation like this again. Their handshake after Red's victory is curt and tense, and Lance's palm feels clammy against his own heated hand. The tension is unusual for a Champion of Lance's caliber, but Red's in no mood to ask about what's bothering him. It could be the various mishaps that have happened at the Tournament so far, or the heavy burden of police matters and constant media interviews while trying to focus on training, or the fact that Giovanni's eyes must be boring down on them from somewhere in the building.

The thought is just distracting enough to pull Red out of the euphoric energy he loves to sink into when in the midst of high-level battling, and he becomes newly aware of the screaming crowds and booming loudspeakers engulfing them. He cringes and yanks his hand away to push at an ear, as if it'll make the ringing stop. It's like an endless pitch from a radio signal, and it's strangely familiar enough to make him think back to another massive building also teeming with radio waves and noisy signals.

Stranger still, it's enough to bring up the memory he's been trying to unearth all week.

He thinks the announcer is signaling the end of their fight and to leave the stage for the next battle, but all he can do is stare at Lance, even after the other Champion mouths _What is it?_ over the noise. Red eventually looks down at his shoes and the cracked panels of arena tiles their Pokemon managed to smash up, but instead he sees himself back in Sevii, just after clearing out Team Rocket yet again from their stinking warehouse, save for one stubborn scientist who stayed behind and said the most peculiar thing.

Oh.

* * *

By the time Red and the Unova Champion stand in front of each other, pokeballs gripped in hand, he's able to fall back into the hypnotic mood of battling and shelve the renewed thoughts in his mind until whatever happens after. This is what he's been waiting for all week, and for the first time in any of his battles today, Red lets a little smile slip through to match the one on the Unova Champion's face.

She tosses a pokeball up, cradles it against her chest for a meditative moment, then releases it with a brilliant beam of light once the announcer declares the start of the final battle. Red follows with sending Pikachu out and immediately points a finger up high to the sky, willing the building electricity within him to unleash and flood the world around him.

* * *

"Hi."

"Hello, dear."

Red's gotten better about calling on a semi-regular basis over the past year, but he still struggles with what to say. He feels he usually repeats the same news – training his team, what Green is up to, what the weather is like. His mother never complains, and never has before, even after years of hearing no news at all. Red shifts on the waiting bench outside of the VIP's Pokemon Center and looks down the hallway, ensuring he's alone.

"If it's late–"

"Not at all. I had to stay up to see the finals on TV anyway."

"You watched it live?"

"Of course," she laughs. "To see how far you've come...it feels like you first got Pikachu just yesterday. All boys have to leave home sometime..."

"Can I ask you something?" Red interrupts, glancing from side to side to ensure the hallway is still empty.

"What is it?"

"Did you and Dad ever think things would change?"

His mother goes quiet for several seconds, and Red looks at the pokegear's screen out of the corner of his eye to check that the call hadn't accidentally ended. It's not a topic that's often brought up, because it's rarely necessary to. Red and his mother accepted their circumstances long ago.

"Is this about Green?"

Red swallows with a grimace. "...Yeah."

"Hmm." She spends a few more silent moments contemplating the question. "I suppose everyone thinks that settling down, getting married, and starting a family means you're set for life. And for some, yes, but..."

She sighs, but it's not quite like the lonely sounds Red remembers her making during his youth.

"Your father just isn't the type to settle down and stay in one place. But I've accepted this and still wish him well, wherever he is now."

Red rests his elbows on his knees and squeezes his eyes shut. He's the same way, he realizes – needing to move and having the freedom to do as he likes, aching for open land and free skies, running towards a never-ending goal of being the strongest, even though there's no denying that there will always be someone else out there stronger than him. His loss to Unova's Champion an hour ago proves that. Giovanni learned that himself long ago.

 _Someday, you'll lose._

"Have you decided what to tell Green?"

"Not yet."

"And you shouldn't until you know for sure," she reassures. "And don't let anyone else decide for you, but I will say...you make him so happy."

"He didn't turn me away when I couldn't give him an answer." Words spill out of him strangely, like ancient gates snapping from a flood. "He's always liked me – like that. It's always been me."

"Honey, it's alright–"

"Even when we were kids. That's why he pushed me away." Red crams fingers up into his hair and pulls at the strands. "Did you know?"

"No...no, I never would have thought..." She trails off. In the brief silence between them, Red realizes he's breathing shallowly. He forces himself to sit upright again, feeling dizzy as his back hits the cool wall behind him. "Red, it's alright."

"I want to be sure."

"I know. The answer will come to you soon." She clears her throat. "Now, don't forget – come visit me when you're back in Kanto. All the berry bushes in the garden are starting to bear fruit."

"I will."

Red ends the call and stares aimlessly at the pokegear until a soft shadow drapes over it. He looks up to see a child waiting expectantly in front of him – blond, bright-eyed, and probably a few years away from being able to receive a Trainer's License. Red's initial thought is that the boy's a native to Unova, followed by wondering how a kid managed to get on the VIP floor. Considering the few previous slips in security, maybe it's not so surprising.

"Ah..." The boy shifts on his feet, jostling the small backpack he has in hand, and lets out a nervous smile. " _Bonjour!_ "

Red didn't expect to hear that outside of Kalos, or outside of Green's mouth when he's trying to show off. He presses his lips together and leans back on the bench, eyes habitually shifting to the side in hopes of finding Green and letting him take over the conversation. But he's alone out here, and the boy stares up at him with unwavering focus, hoping for any form of response. The best Red can offer is a small wave and more silence.

It doesn't seem to dampen the kid's spirits. With an even greater smile, he rummages through his backpack for a folded Tournament Trainer brochure and pen, then holds them up. Red slowly takes the brochure and goes down each page, seeing inked signatures next to several of the pictures. Some scripts look clear and methodical, like Sabrina's and Erika's. Janine and Surge seem to be competing for how large they can write in a tiny space. He can't help checking the bottom of Kanto's list, and thankfully Giovanni's signature is absent from his picture.

And then there's Green's signature on the Champion page, written in both Kanto's script and Kalos' lettering (showoff), plus some short message beneath it. Red's headshot is printed next to his.

One language is more than enough. Red inks out his name – short, simple, with no need for elaboration – and hands back the brochure and pen.

" _Merci!_ " the boy exclaims, hugging the brochure against his chest.

"De...ri...?" Red racks his brain for the fraction of key phrases he bothered to memorize after much nagging from Green. It ends up making no difference, as the boy immediately spins on his heel and starts running down the hall. He meets a woman there, presumably his mother, who waves in thanks. She has a staff badge on her jacket, which explains how the boy got onto this floor. Red sighs and bumps his back against the bench in relief. Any excuse to not speak Kalos' flowery language is a blessing he'll gladly take.

A nurse comes by with a tray of his pokeballs a few minutes later, saying his name and offering a smile to breach the language barrier. Red takes the tray and bows his head – all habit and as uncommon in this region as in Kalos, but she seems to appreciate the gesture and nods in return before leaving. Red rubs his thumb over each pokeball, feeling dents and scratches against his skin. He probably should replace them, but the sensation is too familiar.

It's safer to let Pikachu out with far less people around, now that the Tournament's finale has wrapped up and the crowds are trickling home. He picks up Pikachu to place on his shoulder and rubs at a red cheek, shaking his head when Pikachu lets out a guilty whine. They lost fair and square, but it was the kind of battle Red had been aching for.

 _Still_ aching for, in a way. His fingertips haven't stopped buzzing, and he knows his team would jump at the chance to face one more worthy opponent. He did promise Green he'd return to the hotel right away, but if there's just one more opportunity...

He barely puts weight on his feet to stand before dropping back down, nearly jostling Pikachu off his shoulder. Hidden just around the corner where he sits, a wave of familiar toxins rolls under his nose.

"You seem to enjoy taking your time."

"The press got me before I could get to the elevator."

Red hits his back against the wall, grabbing Pikachu before he's tempted to leap out from around the corner and add his own sparks between Giovanni and Lance. It has to be them, but – if any of the press are still running around looking for sound bites, they'll see them and–

"You should learn how to play low like me," Giovanni chuckles. Red strains his head as minimally as possible around the corner, catching only the hems of a black overcoat and red cape. He jerks back when one of Giovanni's shoes moves to the side.

"Well? I think I've been on my best behavior. If anything, I gave the crowds more than what they–"

"He's not coming, Giovanni."

Red and Pikachu exchange a glance as Giovanni goes quiet. Down the hallway, a faint beeping slips past the Pokemon Center's doors, then dies down. Giovanni scuffs his shoe again, sending the echo down the empty hallway.

"And you know this for sure?"

"He called me this morning," Lance explains slowly. "He said he decided against coming here."

Red rests his head against the wall and looks up at the white ceiling. Pikachu tugs at his shirt, his little mouth puckering in a muted, questioning _chuu_.

"I see." Giovanni takes another step to the side, pauses, then steps aside again with the same foot. "That's that, then."

"I could try calling him again and–"

"It won't matter." Broken footsteps clack down the opposite hallway. "Our deal still stands."

"The police will be here in an hour," Lance says once the footsteps fade out.

* * *

Red returns Pikachu to his pokeball, sends Green a quick text that he'll be back at the hotel later, and makes haste to the upper office levels of the stadium. There are only two guards next to the balcony door this time, and they wordlessly let Red through.

Giovanni is leaning against the balcony rails by the time Red arrives, already in the process of lighting a cigarette. This time, the lit end is indistinguishable from the growing red sunset behind him. He takes a deep drag, holds it, then lets it out between his teeth. There's a strange hunch in his shoulders and straggling weight in his exhales. He turns away from Red, illuminated by the burning sun, and takes off his hat to press against his chest.

"He was never going to come, was he?"

Red takes a careful step forward and brushes his fingers against Pikachu's pokeball on his belt. Giovanni faces him and drops the cigarette, letting it burn away instead of crushing it under the sole of his sleek shoe. His hat remains held against his chest, resembling the gesture of a somber farewell.

Most surprisingly of all, Giovanni has no last words before his departure.

He pulls his hat away from his chest, and something falls from the inside onto the tiled floor. Red feels his stomach clench when he sees the item is a fresh pokeball – nothing like the chipped pokeballs he'd seen Giovanni return after each of his battles, but polished and shiny, just like the ones handed out for free to children in the lobby before the power went out earlier in the week.

Light erupts from the pokeball as it cracks open with a deafening roar. Red loses his footing from the rumbling earth and falls backwards, elbows scraping mercilessly on the floor as a Pokemon's Earthquake begins ripping the balcony apart. Emerging cracks in the flooring race towards him, threatening to collapse and take him down with the rest of the crumbling balcony. Somewhere between the flying chunks of new tile and destroyed potted plants, Red sees the purple form of Giovanni's Nidoking slam his massive arm down.

Red's heels skid as he tries to get some footing before the balcony falls a dozen floors below. The world lurches at a sharp angle and the remaining chunk of tile that Red's lying on slopes down towards the concrete plaza beneath, with only a few metal foundation bars preventing the chunk from falling right away. In a split second, he sees the small, distant forms of attendees in the plaza running for their lives, screaming for help and covering their heads from the rain of dust and debris.

In the split second after that, Red sees his own dangling feet from over a decade ago, in his old shoes and worn jeans, writhing from the iron grip Giovanni had on his neck as he dangled over the broken windows in the president's office of Silph Co. A split second after that, Red was falling with a fainted Charmeleon at his side, plummeting eleven floors below – and another split second after that, Red was soaring eleven floors above with Charizard, vowing he would never see redemption from the leader of Team Rocket.

Charizard. Red bats at the pokeballs on his belt, slipping and skidding further down the lurching chunk of torn balcony. A nearby potted plant drops and hits his arm before he can get a grip on Charizard. He tries again, grabbing the pokeball and holding it high, but pauses when he sees a growing crater emerging directly below in the plaza.

Red leans forward dangerously in its direction, despite the shudders from the remaining bit of balcony threatening to give at any second. He's _there_ , escaping through the earth to avoid his fate, but Red can catch Giovanni, just one more opportunity, if he just falls in after and sinks beneath the surface with him...

His shoulder jolts at a harsh angle when something yanks at his arm, keeping him suspended in the air as the last chunk of balcony finally gives in to gravity. Red watches the remains splatter into the opening of the crater with a blast of smoke. The crater groans from one last aftershock of Earthquake, then fatally collapses towards the center, crushing anything else within its innards and sealing off any chance of following its route.

Red slowly looks up, tasting dust and smoke through each heavy inhale he takes, and searches for what's holding him in place.

Leaning over the partial bit of balcony still intact near the doors is Green, staring at him with wide eyes, both hands gripped onto Red's arm to prevent him from falling, chest heaving as though he ran across the entire city to get to Red's side.

Wordlessly, Green hoists him up, like a ship rolling up its anchor to set sail, and Red doesn't resist.

* * *

The room Red's been waiting in for the past hour is much closer to his personal comfort – simple style, little decor, and fold-out chairs that he can carelessly lean back on the rear legs. There's no window to the outside world nor endless free pastries, and the best Green can do is bring in paper cups of hot tea as they wait for Lance. Green leans against the wall as he sips his tea, while Red lets his own get cold on the cheap table in the middle of the room.

Neither of them look at Lance when he finally enters the room and shuts the door with barely a noise. Lance picks up a fold-out chair and sits on the opposite end of the table with a heavy sigh. He looks tired, no doubt having spent the last hour braving the press and local law enforcement. Red brushes lingering dust away from the scrapes and bruises on his arms. Green sets his tea aside and crosses his arms, staring at his shoes.

"I owe you an apology," says Lance.

Green scoffs and loudly dumps his half-drunken tea in a nearby trash bin.

"I thought I could handle this situation, even with Inspector Looker's absence," he continues, gently tapping one finger on the table's plastic surface. "My motivations were also personal, which I should have been upfront about from the beginning."

"Personal?" snaps Green.

"I know Giovanni has a son," Red intervenes. "And you and Ethan know who he is."

That shuts Green up, and Red thinks he sees him gaping from the corner of his eye. Lance leans his elbows on the table and presses his hands together.

"Yes," he admits. "But Ethan has no involvement or knowledge of our investigation here. He only knows that our deal for letting Giovanni come here was to see his son."

"A testimony wouldn't have changed anything."

"I know." Lance rises to his feet, keeping his chin up and shoulders wide despite the visible exhaustion on his face. Red keeps his own expression impassive, not yet ready to let go of some bitterness about this situation, but he can't help having a fraction of sympathy for the PR disaster that the Kanto League and Tournament committee will be going through for months to come. Was setting this up really worth the risk to Lance? Red shakes his head at the thought; the less he knows about the background to this entire setup, the better.

"Next time you see his son," he says as Lance heads for the door, "tell him Giovanni hasn't changed."

"His son already knows that." Lance turns the cheap doorknob and takes a quick look around the corner, ensuring no one's been waiting outside their meeting room. "That's probably why he never came."

* * *

"You were going to jump in after him."

Red scratches the side of his cheek and glances away. Green tugs on that same cheek moments later.

" _Hey_. Don't think you're getting out of this one."

"He was escaping," Red protests.

"Yeah, I don't think anyone could've missed _that_." And even if they did, no one could miss the current activity of half of Unova's police force surrounding the crater in the plaza and sending in a hundred Dugtrio to find a trace of an underground trail. Red knows it's futile; Giovanni would've covered his tracks immediately and is probably halfway across the region by now.

"Heat of the moment. He seemed strong. I wanted..."

Red's only goal for coming to the Tournament was to fight the strongest. It pulls him in like a magnet, and he easily forgets the risk or danger that comes from being sucked in. Dealing with Giovanni here would make him chase with tunnel vision – and Giovanni planned for it to happen from the start. It was _easy_ for him to lure in his oldest adversary, and Red was a breath away from jumping into the crater, where Giovanni would have buried him for good.

Red crosses his arms, shoulders hunching, and drags his fingernails over one of the scratches on his elbow. He only stops when Green sits on the table and rests a hand on his shoulder.

"How long have you known he has a kid?" Green asks.

"Since...Sevii. Someone in the Rocket warehouse said it. But I forgot about it until a few hours ago." Red offers a helpless shrug at Green's exasperated look, then leans away in his chair in case Green wants to strangle him as badly as he looks like he wants to right now. The urge might be partly warranted. "It was a long time ago."

"You're unbelievable." Green slips his hand down, thankfully deciding against strangling, and instead buries his face in his palm. "Don't ever do that to me again."

Red nods without protest to that and holds Green's free hand, waiting for the shaking in his partner's fingers to stop. They exchange no words for a minute, soaking in the simplicity of the room and subtle ticking sounds from the standard office clock on the wall. There's nothing really left for them to do here, and yet there's a million things they _can_ do, just outside the stadium walls.

"Let's stay here a while longer." Red suggests, squeezing their hands together. Green finally looks at him again, eyes glassy and breathing just a hint uneven. "Just a few days. We can travel and see it all."

"...Alright." Green's hand squeezes back, this time without any tremors in his fingertips.


	8. DAY 7

Red promised he'd spend at least one hour at the wrap-up party in his stiff button-up shirt, but Green doesn't have to look _that_ smug about it. At least Green's in high spirits, happy to chat at the top of his lungs while most of the other Leaders slowly nurse their drinks with strained expressions. With little activity happening and conversations never going beyond a few short goodbyes, they leave long before the party's end time.

Red sees Claire on her own once he and Green start to leave. She opens her mouth, as though to speak to him, then closes it and looks away. Red hasn't seen Lance all night, and he assumes no one else will either.

With no way to speak to Lance directly, and the inability to get through on his pokegear after a couple calls, Green slips a note under Lance's door back at the hotel, informing him of their decision to skip tomorrow's flight back to Kanto with the rest of the Leaders. With the night still young, Red casually suggests that they should finally try out the jacuzzi tub in their hotel room.

They sleep past breakfast and finally leave Driftveil by early afternoon. They begin walking east, crossing over the drawbridge into Nimbasa City, where Green convinces Red to go for a ride in the Ferris wheel. Red only does it for the supposed battle one can have before riding, followed by the reward of making out with Green at the top with the view of the city below them. Neither of them are aware that whoever they battle also gets to join along, leading them to an awkward ride in the wheel capsule and staring out the windows as an ecstatic Clerk sits between them and blabbers away on how he can't believe he's actually in the Ferris wheel with _two_ of the biggest Pokemon legends ever.

They flee the moment the ride is over and cross through the desert into Castelia City the next day. The city is massive and stuck in a never-ending rush of people, but Red finds it easy to become lost in the crowds, faceless and undisturbed as the rest of the world moves on its way. After a quick lunch, they continue to the remarkable spectacle of Skyarrow Bridge.

Green rests an elbow on the bridge span, staring out at the steady river passing under them. Red can see a cruise ship in the distance beyond the mouth of the river, likely similar to the one they'll be boarding back to Kanto tomorrow. But instead of observing the water and all the things adrift and unattached in it, Red can't stop himself from watching Green.

He's handsome, even when he's just standing outside and letting the breeze ruffle his hair. For all of his bragging, Green is intelligent, determined and a natural at conversation. He doesn't need to try so hard to convince the world of these factors – Red knew ages ago, and he's always accepted Green for who he is. Green's incredible, proud, a total thrill to have, and Red suddenly wonders why he's previously felt the urge to drift away at times, when everything he needs is right here.

An answer to Green's question finally materializes in that moment, one that Red believes in, so he doesn't waste another second to say it out loud.

"Green."

"Hmm?" Green glances over at him, leaning easily on the railing and with a lazy smile over his lips.

"Let's get married."

A Wingull passes over their heads and squawks unceremoniously. Two tourists run around on the opposite side of the bridge and snap multiple pictures with noisy traditional cameras. Below them in the river, two Seaking emerge to the surface and accidentally knock heads against each other.

"W-wh-wha..." Green's teeth clack together. " _What?_ "

"Let's get married," Red repeats.

"Noooonoono, hold on!" Green jumps away from the railing and holds out his hands in front of Red. "That's not how this works! I asked _you_ first. You're supposed to say yes to me!"

Of course he would fret over the arbitrary technicalities of this matter. Red glances around anxiously, both checking to see how much attention Green's drawing to them and looking for some kind of hint on how to defuse a possibly imminent argument. The Wingull unhelpfully croaks again, and the Seaking burp out bubbles as they dizzily sink back into the river. The tourists behind them exchange nervous looks and duck out, running towards the bridge's gate.

"That's what I'm saying here," Red tries explaining. "I'm saying yes to you. Yes."

"You – you're really...?"

"Yes."

Green's mouth opens and closes a few times.

"You turned me down in Hoenn."

"I know."

"That..."

"It hurt," Red finishes for Green, so he doesn't have to. "I know."

Not that Green would say out loud that it hurt. Red could guess that on his own with the look on Green's face. After their travels around Hoenn, the lazy mornings with just the two of them, the stroll on the beach where Green stuttered out the most heartfelt question he ever asked, the best answer Red could give him at the time was _I don't know_.

The next couple months after that were rough. Tempting thoughts of disappearing for a while picked at the back of Red's mind, dreaming of places where he could float away without a sail or destination, but the longest he could leave was a few weeks at most before finding his way back. Eventually he'd need to charge his old pokegear with the fancy charger Green had, and restock the berries in Green's yard that Pikachu liked best, and wash his clothes with Green's detergent that made even his old clothes feel soft again, and try all the nice cheeses in Green's fridge, and feel Green's fingers on his cheek just before they fell asleep, and all the other little things that Red found he liked having in his life. Green swallowed his pride and acted like all was well, as he usually did when he took a hit, and slowly they moved back into their routine.

Green stares at their feet, frozen in place except for the twitches in his fingertips.

"We're...we're really going to do this."

"Yeah."

"We're gonna get married."

"Yeah?" Red looks over his shoulder, hoping no one else is crossing the bridge by them. It's hard to tell if Green's about to collapse and cause a scene.

" _Yes!_ " Green suddenly shouts, pumping up his arms, fists raised at the clear sky in victory. "Oh man, I _knew_ you couldn't resist this charm and these good looks!"

Red hurriedly pulls his hat brim down, then wheezes when Green grabs him and hugs in the tightest way he can manage. He sucks in air when Green releases him a second later, only to collide their noses together when Green surges in for a kiss.

"Ow," Green laughs when he pulls away.

* * *

When Red returns to his old house in Kanto, his mother is nowhere to be found.

There are lights and lamps on in the living room, and to Red's relief, the television is off. He touches the screen to see if it's recently been on; the device is cool under his palm, indicating it hasn't been on for several hours. There's a hot kettle of water on the stove, plus today's mail on the kitchen table. Beneath the mail is a stack of pamphlets all about the Tournament, including schedules and participant profiles, and a few sheets have handwritten notes or inked circles around certain battle times.

Red tries upstairs first, only briefly checking her room and his old bedroom. Both rooms are mostly unchanged, even though he hasn't slept over in years and his mother could adapt the spare room into something else. He takes a quick glance out of the window of his old room, then heads downstairs, out the front door, then to the back of the house.

Red nearly stops in his tracks when he sees the size and scale of the backyard garden. Only part of his mother's arm is visible between the tall berry bushes, and it takes some navigating through them to reach her. He can't recall the last time he checked the garden – maybe only when his mother first planted some young bushes, after Red bought them himself as a means to get her focus on something besides the television.

She's kneeling over a fresh sapling, and when she looks up from it, Red says something for the first time to her that's long overdue.

"I'm back."

She hurriedly pulls off her gardening gloves and reaches up to him.

"Welcome home."


End file.
